What with a proper scientific lab at his disposal, it had been quite some time since an invention had backfired...and never so spectacularly. It was supposed to merely blow the doors off their hinges for a dramatic entrance (not that he needed such things any more, but it was still nice once in a while), but the whole building had collapsed somehow.
Unnoticed amidst the panic, Dr. Horrible lay face down in a heap of rubble. A ceiling beam had fallen and trapped him beneath it. Choking on fine dust produced by the explosion, a girl staggered out of the ruined building. She was supporting another unfortunate who'd been caught in the blast. After depositing her dazed burden in a safe place across the street, she headed back in. That's when she spotted the figure in a red lab coat and black gloves.
Internal conflict raged. This man was responsible for so much suffering. Why shouldn't he be the one to suffer for once? Let him have a taste of his own medicine (almost literally—the explosion was his fault, after all). But looking at him lying there, unconscious and totally helpless, she was hit with the realization that he was a person too. Not some vague, evil being. He felt pain, anger, disappointment...she couldn't leave him there.
It took some effort to move the beam, but it actually wasn't all that heavy. Supporting his limp body long enough to get him away from the already-gathering crowd was much more difficult. Fortunately most people were too focused on helping survivors and/or gaping at the destruction in awe to notice one girl dragging away their red-lab-coated ruler.
Unsure what else to do with him, I'd put him in my trunk (didn't want to take the chance of someone seeing him in my backseat) and driven home. Now, pacing my apartment with his still-unconscious body on my couch, I sighed. What was I supposed to do now? For once in my life, why couldn't I have been ruthless? No. I just had to go and let my conscience interfere. It really was annoying sometimes.
Then I noticed the blood. It was on my hands, my jacket...where was it coming from? I wasn't bleeding, was I? After a quick check for injuries, I realized that it wasn't my blood. It was his. Part of his lab coat was a darker red, the stain spreading from somewhere in his abdomen. Great. This day just kept getting better and better. I couldn't take him to the hospital—not dressed like that, anyway. Hippocratic Oath or not, I doubted there were many doctors who'd be willing to help the infamous Dr. Horrible.
Fine. If I had to change his clothes, so be it. Hopefully he was smart and practical enough to wear something under that coat. To my immense relief, he was. Without too much trouble (but much too much physical contact for my comfort), I had him changed into an old pair of jeans and t-shirt that my big brother had left behind last time he visited.